Standing at five feet nine inches and 175 pounds, I was a nineteen-year-old fetishizable force to be reckoned with. I had long red hair that I kept in a French braid concealing my sensuality and confirming my naiveté. My breasts were large and dense, decorated by crater-like pasty pink nipples. My ivory skin was a translucent shell encasing a voluptuous body decorated with bright blue veins that were roadmaps to where I wanted be teased and tortured. No longer a young, twig-like teen, I was a woman by any measurable standard, and I wanted to be fucked.
But I was a virgin. I was not the typical repressed high schooler that moved on to college without letting myself get fucked, though that’s what many assumed. Rather, I never had an interest in having sex with my male peers. I often crushed on my professors, teachers, and older male role models, but never had the confidence or desire to approach them. By my Junior year of college, though, I had had enough.